The Black Ghost's Book
by paddy lover1417
Summary: While cleaning out the Sirius Black's childhood home, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stumble upon a mysterious book revealing the year of trauma and adventure that lead to Regulus A. Black's betrayal of Lord Voldemort.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter had never imagined he would return to the Black Family residence at Grimmald place. But here he was, grudgingly standing with his wand swishing and flicking to keep away the dust that was being raised. Ginny Weasley paused in her rummaging through a closet to push her hair back and look at Harry's bored expression.

"I thought you would be more interested in this," she said.

Harry looked at the pretty red head before him, her eyes looking disappointed that he wasn't having as much fun as she was.

"It's just sort of hard to be here, Ginny," Harry muttered, "It's nothing to do with you."

Ginny jumped up, dusting herself off as she moved towards him. Kissing him softly she said, "I didn't think it was me."

He smiled, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"At least put a sock on the door mate."

Ginny and Harry turned to see Ron and Hermione at the open door. Ron, who had spoken, was shaking his head as he carried a box into the room. Hermione had another box, this one full of books.

"That looks heavy," Harry commented, stepping forward to help Hermione.

Hermione removed her arms to reveal the box was floating. Harry looked sheepishly at her as she and Ginny giggled.

"They got you there, mate," Ron smiled, giving his girlfriend an approving look, "their charms hide the devil inside them both."

Ginny nudged Ron lightly, looking through the box Ron had just brought.

"Where did you get all of this," Harry asked, sitting next to the box Hermione had just set down. He had been attracted to a comic book called "Marvin the Muggle Slayer." He raised his eyebrow in disgust as he flipped through the pages.

"From Regulus' room," Hermione answered, looking at the pictures of monstrous and terrifying muggles over Harry's shoulder.

Harry threw down the comic book in disgust.

"Harry," Ginny said gently, touching Harry's shoulder, "you inherited this house. You've got to look through all of it."

"I know, I just hate seeing all of this dark magic and propaganda rubbish," Harry sighed, rubbing his scar and remembering the past few years at school.

"At least there are a few interesting things," Ron said cheerfully. As he spoke he pulled a cloak from the box, dragging a few books up with it. On the cloak was the emblem of Slytherin. Ron stood, throwing it over his clothes.

"Who am I," Ron quizzed them. He put a scowl on his face, sticking his nose in the air and drawled, "But mother, Potter is the seeker for Gryffindor, why can't I be on the Slytherin Team? Buy them all brooms won't you?"

The teens fell back in laughter. Even Hermione let out a grudging chuckle though she tried to ward it off with a scolding of, "He turned out not to be too bad."

"Oh what's this," Ginny asked. As she had laughed she had sat back and her hand had landed on an open box. The box appeared to be empty at first, red velvet interior looking up at her. But as her hand had touched the inside, something had moved. Now she peered in more closely.

"It's a false bottom," Ginny said excitedly. Ginny removed it carefully as the other teens gathered around.

"It's a book," Hermione cooed. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry as Hermione pulled it from the box.

The book was black leather and looked as if it had been hidden for ages. Still, it seemed as if it had never been opened before. As if to prove this, the binding made a soft cracking sound as Hermione opened it.

Ron looked nervously at her. "Hermione, there may be jinxes on it," he hissed.

She gave him an exasperated look.

"It seems more likely they would have jinxed the box it was hidden in, don't you think," she replied.

She paused, reading in silence. Her eyes darted across the pages like lightning until her eyes widened.

"What is it," Harry asked curiously. Hermione began to read from the beginning,

"I've heard that any number of occurrences happens when you die. You see a light, you see your life, or you hear a voice of God. It always fascinated me. I wondered as Muggles and blood traitors alike stood before the Dark Lord, what would they be seeing. Will it be green and then darkness? Will they embrace it? Will this final scene be imprinted in their memory forever- perhaps a grimy stone floor, the blood?

If the final scene were the memory for the dead to keep, mine would be through a mirror of water. I was simply sinking away from the last of the light I had shot to light the cave. The light seemed to ripple, as if I were seeing the reflection of it in a puddle. But I was sinking in the puddle. Being pulled into the puddle was more like it. Before it all went black, I heard a voice- my brother's voice- repeating the words he had once said to me: "one day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching." Then, I could feel a warmth in my chest, because in all the images that may have flashed before my minds eye, many of which I am about to retell, none would shine more brightly than the deed I had just finished. I had allowed someone, one day, to defeat one of the greatest Evils of our time. I did not know when it would be, or how long I would have to wait in whichever place I were heading, but I knew that now it was more possible.

This thought comforted me as I was dragged to the bottomless depths and into darkness.

My name is Regulus A. Black. I am the lastborn son of the pureblood Black Family. On July 28th, 1979 I was murdered. With the last ounce of magic I have, I have imprinted my final moment of life and that leading up to it in this book for someone, someday, to find and see."

The teens exchanged looks of wonder.

"Sirius' brother," whispered Ron.

Ginny gave him an odd look at his soft tone. "Lets read on," Ginny urged Hermione. Hermione looked at Harry who was looking solemnly at the floor.

"Harry," Hermione asked delicately.

"Let's read on," Harry agreed suddenly. He pushed his glasses up his nose determinately. "Maybe it will tell us more about Sirius and Sn- Severus growing up."

Hermione turned back to the book and turned the page, beginning to read.

"Since time is relative, I find that I have ample time now to imprint the whole story where I thought I would only have seconds. But before you can understand the actions in the year or so before my death, there must be some background provided.

From as early as I can remember, Sirius and I were inseparable. My first memory is of my mobile above a playpen. The mobile was of a giant snake chasing around muggles that he would never catch. I suppose I would stare at this as the wind moved about it making the snake move faster and faster. However, in my first memory this chase is interrupted by my brother's giant five-year-old head blocking my own three-year-old view.

"Weggie," he said, wiping the remaining nap sleep from his eyes, "let's play."

"Mr. Sirius must let Mr. Regulus sleep," Kreatur had said but that had only made Sirius point out that I was not sleeping at all but watching the mobile move one and one.

"Mrs. Black says that Kreatur must make sure Mr. Regulus learns from the mobile and nap time. Kreatur must obey. Mr. Regulus must see where filthy muggles places are," Kreatur replied. Sirius pouted then looked at me through the fence like material that separated us. Then, he got that look in his eyes. A look I would grow to know meant trouble with a capital T. It made his dark eyes dance with laughter and yet gleam with mischief. Of course at the moment I had no idea of any of that. I saw only my older brother's face against the netting of my pen.

Now that I recount it, it seems that even then my brother somehow managed to remain outside the cage of rules and expectations of the Black family heritage, while I as the final son was never really free of them.

As if to prove this, Sirius had stood on his tiptoes and pushed the head of the snake on my mobile lightly. It sent the snake wobbling backward, muggles following close behind.

"Now the muggles are chasing the snake," Sirius said proudly looking at Kreatur. Kreatur looked horrified at the development and rushed from the room to get our mother. My memory does not consist of the yelling and tirades that likely followed, as they always did, but it was not the last time that Sirius would return from such screaming fits with marks and bruises on his face or arms.

Many of these occurred when Sirius stood up for me. We were homeschooled by our aunt before Hogwarts because we obviously couldn't venture into the Muggle School. Mother would always say that mixing with such filth wouldn't do us any good. Still, many of their early fights came from Sirius' desire to venture into the nearby school and neighborhood. He was tired of the house and cramped areas. He was especially tired of our mother and aunt. Every night before we went to bed Sirius would sneak into my room and read me a story since mother often got migraines and could not bear to be around the children any longer.

Since our aunt read us the same stories, I could tell that he had changed the blood filled propaganda into better storied but I enjoyed Sirius' version so much better I pretended not to know. His favorite was to change my Marvin the Muggle Slayer books into a heroic tale of a muggle names Marvin who slayed dragons and evildoers alike.

Once when we were at my aunt's, I attempted to retell the story Sirius had told me the night before to my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa. However, no sooner had I reached the point where Marvin the Muggle had backed the evildoer against the wall when I felt a fist hit my face. When I had recovered myself, Cousin Bella (as I called her then) stood above me trembling with the utmost fury.

"How dare you say such filth," she screeched. I find that this is something she has not grown out of. Though she was Sirius' age, Cousin Bella had hit an early growth spurt and so was a tad taller then Sirius and that made the punch all the more forceful. I sat nursing my wound when all of a sudden bubbles of soap began to appear from my mouth and I tasted the soap Mother often used to wash out our mouth when we said anything dissatisfactory.

Narcissa let out a nervous laugh, as Cousin Bella looked delighted with herself. Apparently, Cousin Bella's magic was acting up. While most of the adults applauded her for the rest of the day, Sirius was the only one who made sure my bruise was okay and helped remove the suds. Then, when Cousin Bella had fallen asleep for a nap- apparently exhausted from the attention- Sirius snuck in and dropped soap into her mouth, leaving before the familiar screech filled the hall.

Despite all of Sirius' best effort, I was still the baby and evidently the family was hell bent on making sure I did not stray from the path of pureblood, as Sirius seemed destined to do. As we grew, Mother began taking special interest in me, babying me and spending more time with me and without Sirius. It seemed she had heard about the many "unclean" habits Sirius had, such as making muggles good guys in storybooks. Though my brother never held my moments of pureblood ignorance against me, whenever I would let slip a degrading word about muggleborns or muggles his eyes would dance much less. One day, in a rare moment of neglect from my mother, the then ten-year-old Sirius took me to a nearby park. It was absolutely forbidden we do such things but Sirius had apparently been taking my babying very well and found outside activities for himself. This was one of them.

When we arrived, I saw all sorts of muggle play things- swings, slides, teeter-totters- all of which Sirius explained the use of. Then he paused staring. Confused at the silence of my brother (for very few things silent my brother), I followed his eye line to see what it was that silenced him.

Sitting on a swing was a girl with skin the color of dark chocolate, and just as smooth. Short raven braids framed her radiating complexion. The girl looked about Sirius' age. For a moment I was confused when the girl spotted us and her face broke into a big smile. She waved at Sirius as if they were old friends. Then it occurred to me that this was what Sirius did in his free time- came to the park to play. Sirius introduced me to the girl, who was named Angel, and we played in the park all day until supper. Mother was furious but even now I recall the joy and thrills I felt that day with Sirius and Angel.

As was tradition in our family, when Sirius received a letter to Hogwarts he received a gift. For him it was a magical mirror for communication. A bit of a trifling since it was not an heirloom, but Sirius didn't seem to care. Mother declared she was happy she had not given him more when she found he had been sorted into Gryffindor. This seemed to be a catalyst for her because she doubled her efforts to educate me in the ways of proper pureblood society. I admit, I was rather brainwashed, but thus is the life of the prejudiced upper pureblood classes.

When I received my own letter a year later, Mother gave me a Black heirloom- a gorgeous silver dagger made by goblins. It was ancient with our family crest on it. That day was an especially poor one for Sirius and so in celebration of my acceptance, and to allow himself to get away from the tirades and slaps of our mother, he took me to the park.

There was Angel on the swing once more. As if she knew he would come. This time, we climbed trees and ran about. Angel taught us hide and seek. I hid behind the park wall for ages until finally, bored, I peeked around the edge. I could see Sirius and Angel peeking behind trees looking for me. Sirius made a suggestion, motioning to the wall, but Angel shook her head in thought. It made the beads at the end of her long braids clack so loudly I could hear it from my hiding spot. Then, Sirius leaned over and kissed her cheek- face bursting into flames. Angel looked startled, and then as Sirius began to try to explain himself, she kissed him quickly on the lips. I would have rushed home away from such a scandalous scene but I didn't have the chance. Sirius found me moments later, saying Angel had had to go home and that we should as well. But his cheeks were still pink and he could not stop smiling. He even whistled while I sulked behind him.

Even Mother's tirade didn't ruin his mood."

Hermione paused as she turned the page.

"Water," Ron offered. Hermione took the glass and smiled at the red head. She sipped as her eyes darted across the page, brow furrowing.

"What's the matter," Ginny asked lazily.

They had all rearranged themselves since beginning the diary. Now Harry sat with his back against the couch, one leg bent to balance himself. Ginny lay on the floor, head resting in Harry's lap as Harry absentmindedly ran his hand through her cascading hair. After Hermione finished the water and placed it on the floor, Ron retook his spot lounging on the couch.

"Well the diary changes," Hermione explained to the listening teens. "I think he may have gone unconscious because now the imprint seems to be a flashback, rather than reminiscing."

"Well, he was being pulled to his death," Harry said softly. Hermione nodded.

"Should I continue," Hermione asked unsure.

"Oh yes," Ginny said sitting up suddenly. "I want to hear."

Hermione cleared her throat and began again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Meeting

"Regulus, you're slouching," hissed Bellatrix. I hate her, but straighten.

One does not counter Bellatrix Black, or Bellatrix Lestrange as she is known now. She acts as if she is my second mother. I am practically 18 as of next week and the old hag simply will not leave me alone. She thinks she's clever because the Dark Lord favors her and Lucius so.

"Wipe your mouth as well, we can't have the Dark Lord seeing such weakness," hisses Lestrange.

Bellatrix cackles in response. Severus looks coldly at the pile of vomit before me as I straighten and wipe my mouth on my sleeve.

"Apparating," I explain, but we both know it's because of the murder we just witnessed.

He doesn't have to use occlumancy to figure that out. Still, I would have been fine if we hadn't apparated right after. I just needed some time to collect myself from those screams.

Sometimes in the night, I can hear them. All the people I've witnessed crucioed and killed. When the Dark Lord does it, I can lose myself behind the mask. He knows I am the youngest of his followers. Faithful for almost two years now, he has no concern for my loyalty. He is fine with my letting my mind wander, just so long as I do not. But when Bellatrix kills- oh-

I feel another wave of nausea hitting me and Severus pauses. He seems paler than usual as well. He mutters in his sleep. I remind myself that so that I feel less self-conscious under his gaze.

"Regulus, you are disgracing us," Bellatrix hisses.

"I am not, He is not here to see. I have a bug. That muggle house was full of scum. What can you expect," I snap.

This always gets Bellatrix to leave me alone. Thank god she cannot perform Occlumency. Not that it would help, Severus has been helping me learn to block it since we became friends at Hogwarts. Now, he waits for Lestrange and Bellatrix to walk a bit ahead.

"That was bad," he conceded finally, handing me a handkerchief.

It has "The Prince" stitched in. I take it to wipe the corner of my mouth.

"They deserved it I suppose," I say.

But I can still see that grimy old muggle house, covered in vines and smelling like mildew despite the fresh country air. It had been filled with children who had surely heard their father's screams through those floorboards and then-

"Bellatrix need not have locked the house and burned it though," Severus said coldly.

I can hear the children screaming.

"Muggle scum," I reply.

"Of course," Severus agrees nodding as a masked man passes us.

We are gathering in a clearing protected by charms only someone as ancient as Dumbledore can break. Not his Order of the Phoenix or whatever absurdity they call themselves now.

Lestrange stands next to me, placing his mask on his face as we come to a halt. He always stands next to me since Bellatrix brought him home to meet the family. He apparently took a liking to me. Said I was a prodigy of pureblood. He arranged a meeting with the Dark Lord himself the next week. For my 16th birthday, he got my family more prestige than Sirius could ever lose with his muggle loving ways and that stupid flying motorcycle I heard he drove.

I flinch because whenever I remember getting my dark mark, it burns to remind me of the Lestrange gift. Old hag.

I straighten up more, putting on my mask and feeling the cool silver of the dagger against my inner calf. Out of sight- out of other's minds. Nothing wrong with extra protection.

"You only use it to ward off your night terrors anyway," Lucious had teased.

I had scoffed but it was true. That's why I sleep with it under my pillow.

Severus nudges me and passes me my potion. He makes one for me every week. I'm sure The Dark Lord must have an idea, but he says it is to keep my strength up from so many missions. It is. But it is also to ward off sleep.

I haven't slept a full nights sleep for four months thanks to it. Everytime I close my eyes I can see and hear all of those people. Bellatrix keeps a tally above her and Lestrange's bed of how many people they have tortured and killed. Most will never be pinned on her by muggles or wizards. She started one for me just above my own bed. It has three strikes. Kreacher is horrified to see the marks ruining the ancient walls. I keep reminding him that there are house elf heads all along the hall. They are stuck there forever, I've tried to remove them and they won't budge.

People begin to fall onto their knees and I follow suit. I haven't had my potion and I'm not going to drink it in front of the Dark Lord. One does not drink such nonsense in front of the most powerful wizard of all time.

He comes into the clearing with great gusto. He is funnier then most people would imagine. He still has bits of his younger self- wit and charm. These alone would prove him to be a pure blood, as my mother use to always say. He often sends his followers into stitches during meeting. Sometimes, unfortunately, it's literal.

When I first met him, I was ecstatic. I was practically gyrating in my seat with anticipation. Lestrange had told me to calm myself, but he had looked amused. I remember even now how we sat in a bar in Knockturn Alley waiting until the Dark Lord appeared. Just there, like that. Not afraid of the ministry or any one who would challenge him. It was magnificent. He was magnificent.

Bellatrix had come along and her eyes had shown in a way I had never seen before. Later, I realized I had never seen her look with love at any person before or since. I wondered if Lestrange knew. I don't think he is smart enough to notice. That's what happens with generations of incest.

Even now, as he enters the room, I am taken aback by his greatness. I wonder if Gryffindors and blood traitors feel this way when they see Dumbledore, whom they say is equal to the Dark Lord. They are wrong, of course. Dumbledore could not do what I have seen the Dark Lord do. He is what Gods are modeled after- Greek gods who are vengeful and powerful.

But lately, I cannot look at him straight in the face without great concentration. He attributes this to my exhaustion. He believes he is pushing me too hard. He suspects, I'm sure, that I was not prepared for the amount of blood I would wash my hands with every night. I was not. There should be more than three tallies on my wall.

"You received a letter today, Regulus."

The crowd all turns to me. When I first arrived and this sort of blatant favoritism occurred I would pretend to be politically abashed by the attention. Now I just stare at the turned faces. Yes, I'm a favorite. No, you are not. Care to try to kill me for it? Take it.

I only think that "take it" part half the time. Specifically when I have just seen a house full of children burned to the ground in magic blue flames. I repress a shiver as The Dark Lord opens the letter.

"I'll spare you all the details, but seems your brother misses you. Wants to meet him at some Muggle Café in London. How very sentimental," The Dark Lord says.

See, very funny.

"My Lord," I begin. I'm confused as to why he has a letter from my brother, why my brother would write to me… My brother and I haven't talked since he was disowned.

The weekend before it happened, he had stopped me in the hall, face tired and pale. "Regulus," he had gasped. I was surprised because we had made it a habit not to talk at school. "I'm sorry."

That was all he said. Then he was disowned. Then he graduated.

"I want you to go," the Dark Lord says.

The crowd gasps and physically tense. They think he is joking and something cruel is about to happen. For some, I can feel the tension is excitement. It radiates off of them.

"Of course, My lord."

The crowd seems even more surprised by this response. I don't ask why. You should never ask why the Dark Lord is giving you a command. This makes him smile and I notice his lips are cracked and his smile doesn't reach his eyes. Did I notice that in Knockturn Alley?

"Ah, Regulus, you never ask me why I assign tasks. It's why I trust you. You do as you're told. Not because you're an idiot, like some, but because you simply need not to know," he will say to me after meeting, as he sometimes does. He'll pull me away and Bellatrix will look so proud. I use to feel proud about such moments but now, thinking of the letter I simply see Sirius' face.

I return home and Kreacher is the only one there, as he always is. He hurries up to me with more speed then one would think he is able to with his old age. The lights of the hallway jump on as he passes them, throwing an eerie light on his wrinkles. Mother's portrait smiles at me fondly as I put my coat on the rack.

"Did Mr. Regulus have a good meeting," Kreacher asks. He dusts off my shoes quickly as he speaks, his long nose practically touching the floor.

"Not really, Kreacher," I sigh. "But thank you for asking."

Kreacher's face falls and he looks concerned.

"Mr. Regulus, your arm! Kreacher will fix right up."

I look down and see that my forearm with its dark mark is now visible.

There is a dark burn just above the skull, crossing over the snake. I hadn't realized it was there. I thought the hurting was from my mark acting up. Kreacher snaps his fingers and a bag appears in the air.

"Can we do this in the study, Kreacher," I ask.

Kreacher nods and we walk upstairs. Kreacher is muttering worriedly under his breath as we go. I touch the burn and it sends pain rushing up my arm. Kreacher makes a sound of horrified disapproval, but something about it is appealing. I plop down in the chair and realize that it is the first feeling I have had in a while. Kreacher pulls a footstool over as I rest my arm off the armrest. He tuts and mutters to himself like a mother hen. It's odd how he is much more of a mother and father than my own ever were.

As I think this, my eyes fall on the family tree tapestry across the room. The noble and most ancient house of Black. I find Phineas Nigellus Black on the tree. Ex-headmaster of Hogwarts. I follow the lines through Arcturus and Melania (McMillan) Black, and Pollux and Irma (Crabbe) Black. One of the men was awarded Order of Merlin 1st Class for "Services to the Ministry," but I can't recall which now. Through incest, marriages, and deaths I follow the lines until I find my mother and father. Below them are my own name and a scorch mark. "Regulus Arcturu Black."

To think of how proud I was to be chosen by Lestrange. My mother thought that I would be the next Black legacy. She would be able to go to dinner parties and recount the line.

"Yes Black, as in Headmaster Black? Oh you probably know my son, Regulus. He's one of the inner most circle with the Dark Lord. Highly rewarded. Pure through and through."

When she first said it to my father, I couldn't help but beam. Caring on the purity of the Black family. I wonder if she and my father would react with pride if they had watched children burned alive. No one will find their small bones turned to ash. Tomorrow the muggle headline will read "Disastrous fire in country side- 12 assumed dead." If there is any article at all.

I feel another stab of pain and turn quickly to Kreacher, but he is gone. I realize the pain was not from the burn, which is bandaged up. When I raise my eyes again they fall on the scorch mark that should be

Sirius' name. I can't turn away from it, until Kreacher calls for dinner.

When I enter the kitchen, mother and father are already seated, cheerfully discussing the news of the day. He with the newspaper open, she inspecting her finely manicured nails as she listens and responds. When I enter, they both look up and beam.

"Bella sent me an owl today," mother cooes excitedly as Kreacher serves dinner.

I sit down and nod thanks to Kreacher as he puts the soup before me.

"Says that the Dark Lord has selected you for a special task," Mother continues. "How thrilling!"

"I'm sure he can't discuss it dear," Father replies taking a sip from his goblet. I take a sip from my soup as Mother's excitement dims ever so slightly. I dab my mouth with the napkin and reply, "Sirius sent me a letter."

Now her excitement disappears completely and she frowns, deepening a line on her otherwise youthful face. It is the only line that reveals her age. Father folds his paper purposefully and says nothing, though he looks at me expectantly.

"I don't know what it says exactly because the Dark Lord intercepted it. The gist is that Sirius wants me to meet with him."

"The nerve," Mother begins heatedly but Father raises his hand calmly. She falls silent again.

"The Dark Lord wants me to go," I finish. I take another sip of soup as Kreacher comes to clear our plates for the next course.

"But, why," Mother asks confused. "That blood traitor hasn't contacted anyone of class and decency since he left when he was 16 to stay with those Potters. I knew that Potter boy was a bad influence."

"We were just happy he was friends with a pureblood," Father reminds her.

"Bloodtraitors are as bad as muggles," Mother snaps. Father nods in agreement before turning back to me as fish is placed before us, an eye still looking up at us from the plate.

"It seems that no matter how unpleasant the task, you will have to do it. I'm sure the Dark Lord has reason for the request," Father says.

"I agree. Perhaps Sirius is part of that Order of the Phoenix that has been in the paper of late," I say.

I can tell this is the wrong thing to say as it leaves my lips. My mother's eyes practically turn red as she lets out a screech and throws her plate against the wall. Food flies everywhere while the gold plate begins to fall to the floor. She sends a jet of light from her wand and only a melted mass of gold slops to the ground. Then she runs from the room, screaming about blood traitors. My father gives me a look before opening up the paper again and continuing to read.

After dinner I return to my room and Kreacher brings me a book from the study where mother has stationed herself, throwing flame after flame at the spot where Sirius' name once was. The book is ancient and I thank the elf. He hesitates at the door shyly.

"Yes, Kreacher," I ask.

"Mr. Regulus knows that Kreacher would be very concerned if Mr. Regulus were harmed? Kreacher would want to make sure that Mr. Regulus was as comfortable as possible so he could recover quickly to continue fighting mudbloods and bloodtrators."

"Yes Kreacher, I know," I say with a smile.

"Kreacher would be happy to read some of the book to Mr. Regulus so that Mr. Regulus can get to sleep. Just as Kreacher use to. Kreacher would have no problem doing it so that Mr. Regulus need not strain himself."

I smile and hand him the book. Kreacher's old face breaks into a giant smile, showing pointed teeth like a goblin's. He makes sure I am comfortable and then begins.

"The art and myth of immortality."

Kreacher turns the page and clears his throat.

"Though innumerable wizards have attempted immortality, few to date have succeeded. In the following pages we will outline the history of such practice and the myths around them. From horocrux to voodoo, from the legend of the deathly hollows to the legend of Hades, with this book you will be equipped to discuss even the most obscure immortality techniques…""

"And," Ron asked sitting up. Hermione gave him an annoyed look.

"And he fell asleep, you git," Ginny said annoyed as Hermione took another sip of water.

"Would you like a break, Hermione," Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged and handed him the book. He flipped it open to the page and began.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Reunion

""And then the Dark Lord assigned you to the task," twitters Nancy Parkinson.

I nod bored. She blushes as if this expression is somehow a compliment and I remind myself that in the Slytherin world it is a thin line between the bored expression and one of intrigue. However, I am bored. I can't think of any other expression to get this across the table to Nancy's pug face. Her sister is much more attractive.

Across the room I can see Severeus out of the corner of my eye looking at his nails in a bored fashion. Not given the luxury of the Black family looks, his date looks reproachfully at him.

"He is a bit slimey, it's fascinating that he's so trusted," Nancy says. She has turned to look at Severeus as well.

I feel a strange sensation of loyalty towards my compatriot who always makes me a potion that prevents my slumber. I had forgotten to take it just te night before and had had nightmares all night about screaming children and muggles begging for mercy.

"Obviously the Dark Lord knows more than you," I snap.

Nancy has the decency to blush and look ashamed.

"Of course," she smiles batting her eyelashes. Sensing she has annoyed me, she changes the subject back to my esteemed honor.

"To be asked to perform such a high honor by the Dark Lord," she cooes, "he must have some plan for your meeting your brother. Perhaps he anticipates you will have to kill him."

Later, as Nancy sleeps curled against my side I stare at the ceiling. It had not occurred to me that the Dark Lord might want me to do more than speak with my brother. Did he expect I would kill him? I feel a lump in my throat as Nancy shifts. I feel suddenly claustrophobic and move away, quietly leaving the room and moving to the study.

In the beginning, I enjoyed the female attention. Though the ranks of the Dark Lord are secretive, it did not take long before the other Slytherins heard I was accepted at 16. One of the youngest. Obviously it was only rumor, I would hint with a wink. Some of the best and most ambitious girls flocked towards me. After all, The Black family was already prestigious.

My eyes fall on the scorched place where Sirius' name should be. He had left quite the line of admirers and broken hearts behind. Then in sixth year he had fallen for Snape's sister. The twist was ridiculous. She, as all Gryffindors, was oblivious. Last I had heard they were engaged. Severus is less than pleased.

Still, I think, looking at my own name on the tree, I had long since outgrown the ridiculous flattery and overly ambitious women who could not accomplish whatever their goal was on their own. The women, like Nancy, who see me as a prize to brag about. When they were with me I slept even less, worried that they would spread word of my sleeping mutterings.

The door creaks and I turn, wand poised. Kreacher peaks in, his long nose leading the way.

"Mr. Regulus," he croaks.

"I didn't wake you, did I Kreacher," I ask concerned.

He shakes his head.

"Kreacher was up already, Mr. Regulus. Is Mr. Regulus having trouble sleeping? Should Kreacher fix him some tea?"

"Kreacher, will you do me one better," I ask.

"Anything Mr. Regulus," Kreacher smiles.

It's a hideous smile, and Sirius hated the thing and the house elf who produced it, but it seems enduring to me.

"Will you come up with some excuse to get Nancy Parkinson out of my bed?"

Kreacher smiles devilishly and practically skips from the room.

In his absence, my eyes begin to sink. My last conscious thought is that I didn't take Severus' potion- it is on the nightstand by Nancy.

Tonight my dream world is dark with only a single light surrounding me. I turn and see the braided hair of the childish girl as she pulls away from kissing a young Sirius. He blushes as Angel pulls away.

Then, as if by magic, young Sirius fades away and Angel begins to grow before my eyes. Her braids lengthen, her spine extends, and soon a young woman stands where the small child once was. She is beautiful and, just as in real life when I saw her at her new age, I feel a bit disoriented for a moment.

"Crucio."

In slow motion, Angel falls to the ground writhing in silent pain, her mouth open, but no sound coming out. Perhaps I have gone deaf. I turn and see Bellatrix, face cast in shadow except a sadistic smile, with her wand pointed at Angel.

In a rush, the dream brightens and I am no longer in the dark. Now, I am in the recollection itself.

Angel's scream fills my ears until Bellatrix raises her wand and twirls it lazily in her hand.

"Muggle filth," she hisses. Then, for no reason at all, she mutters, "crucio" again.

The screams fill the air again, tearing into my ears and brain. They seem to block the blood from flowing anywhere in my body. Everything seems frozen as if the screams themselves control my moves and I am in mutual pain.

Bellatrix stops once more.

"Bellatrix, stop playing around," drawls Severus. I notice he seems pale and unamused.

Angel turns her head and begins to push herself up once more. Without her screams I feel able to move. She moves her head with great effort and looks at me. As if by an impossible feat, I can see she recognizes me. Not only recognizes, but accuses me and questions me. How can I stand there? Where is the hide and seek game from so long ago?

I open my mouth to answer but Lestrange's voice says, "Avada Kedavra."

Instinctively, I move forward, then stop inches from the fallen muggle girl, her hair spread about her like a fallen angel. Her eyes do not seemed shocked but accusing and they are looking right at me.

"Kreatur did as you asked, ."

I sit up straight panting as if I've run a marathon. Kreatur peers at me with a worried expression.

"Ms. Parkinson is gone, Mr. Regulus," Kreature repeats.

"Thank you, Kreatur. That's all," I say trying to sound calm, but my voice shakes slightly.

I stand up and rush to my room before Kreatur can ask any questions. When I arrive, I drink the whole vial of the potion and sit on the ground. But even with my eyes open I can see those eyes staring at me accusingly.

I floo to Ollivander's. I could have apparated, but I did not want to run the chance of throwing up with Sirius seeing. Funny how we still hold onto our idols, even when we know better.

As I exit the fireplace, the old man is nowhere to be seen. He was always able to sense things beyond the obvious, so I'm surprised that his store seems deserted. I had only chosen this store because rumor had it that it was one of the few still open.

The bell rings as I leave the wand store. I had not ventured into this area in some time. Everything has changed. Most stores are boarded up with their closed signs peering out behind layers of dust. Some have "Out of Business" painted across the door as if to ward off God's final curse. It looks like a ghost town and for a moment I feel a wave of sadness. Was this because of the Dark Lord? Was this how we would raise the wizarding world to new heights and success?

I pause in front of a door. Above it, the name "The Deer's Hearth" is missing a few letters and make the candy shop's name "Death."

I use the corner of my cloak to wipe away some dust and peer in. The shelves are still packed full with candies and goodies all pink and red. Streamers and valentine day signs hang half clinging to the wall. I can imagine the way the store use to look- children bustling up and down the aisles gathering candy and begging their mothers to buy them the best chocolate in London since… when was it?

"Best chocolate since 1345."

I turn, hand gripping my wand instinctively. Sirius stands leaning nonchalantly against the brick building.

My brother has not changed in the years we have been apart. His hair still hangs rebelliously about his face, and his face still has a handsome, boyish charm. His eyes are sterner though, and cold.

"I heard you bought some ridiculous muggle machine," I say pointing to his leather jacket, concentrating on keeping my voice even.

"Is that on the top agenda of those Deatheater meetings," Sirius asks raising an eyebrow.

I give him my best confused look as I reply, "Deatheater meetings?"

"Let's not play the social circle games, Reggie."

I fall silent waiting for him to continue with his purpose. Instead, he pushes himself off the wall with a lazy shrug of his shoulder and looks into the store- "Death."

"I remember we use to go in here every year as we were shopping for school supplies. We would beg mother to just let us get a candy each. She would always scoff. So low grade. Besides, didn't we know this filthy place sold to muggles under a different name and location?"

I listen to him, watchful and aware that Diagon Alley is empty except for us.

"Sometimes, when mother wasn't looking- do you remember that nice lady who ran this place? The old one missing a tooth? She use to sneak me a piece or two and I would split it with you."

"I recall more clearly the time you got me in trouble," I remind him coldly.

Sirius moves away from the window and looks at me seriously.

"If I remember correctly you went to show mother how you had a piece of candy and she slapped you across the face for being defiant," Sirius states, "where you four or five? I forget."

"Why did you want to meet, Sirius?"

Sirius smirks. I feel a twinge of annoyance. He was acting as if he had won some verbal sparring.

"Let's get a drink," he replies.

The Leaky Cauldron looks as dreary as always. One or two less than appealing characters sit about the place. A tired looking man smoked a pipe in the corner. His hood is pulled over his face covering his eyes but the pipe light slightly illuminates the scars and scratches of his face as he takes each puff.

Sirius moves towards the bar and sits a few seats away from a giant oaf- he looks as if he were half giant. The half-breed looked at Sirius momentarily before removing his pink umbrella from the bar and putting it on the other side of his pint.

"What do you want Sirius," I ask as Sirius holds up two fingers and the bartender nods. Obviously he is a regular.

A glass of fire-whiskey is placed in front of each of us and I look at him annoyed. He does not look at me, pretending not to feel my annoyance. Instead he takes a sip of the firewhiskey, expression unchanged. I am getting annoyed. I feel a sudden need to get revenge on this git, blood traitor of a brother.

"Lela is taking her auror tests isn't she," I ask taking the glass and pulling it closer to me. I move the glass so the whiskey sloshes about but does not fall from the glass. "My friends are usually very interested in gossip you know," I add.

I feel Sirius stiffen momentarily and I make sure to hold my smirk at hitting a nerve.

"Severus is obviously very concerned that his sister is making such a blatant stance against the Dark Lord," I continue.

"You and Snivellus chat much- one deatheater to another," Sirius snaps, obviously allowing his rage to get the best of him.

"That is a very serious accusation to make," I remind him. "You ought to respect your fiance's brother more than that."

Sirius takes another sip of firewhiskey, emptying half of the cup.

"If your precious Voldemort had let you read my letter you would know that she and I aren't engaged. Too dangerous currently," Sirius states calmly. His nonchalant face is back in place.

I must admit this surprises me. We may not have talked after his disowning, but I still saw him at school. From afar I could tell how he liked Lela Snape. I couldn't blame him- she was beautiful with raven hair and a sort of awkward Gryffindor way about her.

"You remember Angel, don't you," Sirius says after a moment of silence. I hadn't realized I wasn't talking, lost in thought about Severus' sister and my brother's relationship.

"who," I ask taking a sip of firewhiskey. I can see her eyes.

The half-breed shifts nervously. I give him a threateningly look and he taps his pink umbrella as he takes another swig.

"Angel, the muggle from our neighborhood who I use to sneak off to play with," Sirius explains.

"I don't recall her," I answer taking a final swig. My cup is empty. Sirius raises an eyebrow.

"She went missing a few months ago," he continued, not drinking his whiskey. I wave to the bartender to bring two more.

"They just found her body in an unmarked grave just outside the playground. Right under the tree she use to climb and play hide and seek by," Sirius continued.

"Tragic," I respond in a bored tone. I take another sip of whiskey. I hope those eyes will go away with the next sip. Instead, I think of the burning children.

Sirius' look makes me unnecessarily uneasy. Doesn't he know deatheaters don't bury muggles and bloodtraitors? My arm feels itchy but I ignore it by taking a large gulp of the whiskey.

"Look Regulus," Sirius says finally as I finish the second glass. "Personally, I don't think there is any hope for you. As far as I'm concerned you're as batcrazy as Bella and all the other Deatheaters like you."

The man in the corner shifts. I can see him take his wand out and place it on the table. He knocks out the tobacco from the pipe into a pile next to it.

"But some other people don't agree with me. So I'm here to tell you that one day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching. Is it worth watching so far?"

I feel suddenly tired and I try to mentally shake myself. He acts as if I haven't thought of this since I was 16.

"Regulus," Sirius asks, a note of concern. He touches my shoulder.

As if on cue, the back door burst open and three fully dressed deatheaters charge forward, blasting hexes and spells as they charge, not paying attention to their aim. I feel an arm grab my cloak.

"Time to go," hisses Lestrange's voice in my ear. His breath is putrid.

The man with the pipe in the corner jumps up and begins returning shots as Sirius pulls out his wand.

"Just wait," Sirius calls as I am dragged behind the shooting deatheaters. "Dumbledore will kill Voldemort and then you'll have to think about your choices. You'll regret it if you don't stop, Reggie. You'll never be able to come back after a point."

Then the world begins to twist as Lestrange apparates us to the Dark Lord."

Harry paused and fixed his glasses that had been sliding down his nose as he read.

"Quite a good story," Ginny said pushing her hair out of her face with excitement.

Harry smirked as a few strands fall rebelliously out of place, before turning back to the diary and continuing.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Hints of Horocruxes

"I buried her."

Severus looks up at me quickly. He is aware of the danger I have just put us both in by sharing this information. He recovers his composure quickly.

"I knew this was not just a pleasantry," he drawls, pushing away his soup as if it is tainted by my secret confession.

"I've been thinking about it since I saw Sirius," I admit. "I couldn't help it. She looked at me like that. I've known her since…"

Severus' expression doesn't change.

"Even Blacks have a breaking point," I hiss, looking over my shoulder. "Everyone does. I know the Doe does."

"That doesn't make sense," Severus says tapping the table impatiently.

I raise my eyebrow. As if I don't know his longtime crush on that muggleborn, what was her name? Evans…

He slurps his soup more ungracefully than usual before pausing. I see his eyes widen.

There it is.

He regains his composure by putting his spoon back into the soup and stirring it.

"Although I do not know what you mean specifically," Severus says calmly, "I can appreciate the sentiment."

Right, I think.

There is a long moment of silence before Severus says, "But you buried her under the tree she and Black played hide and seek?"

"I didn't mean it, I sort of did it without thinking."

"How sentimental."

I give him a look.

"You don't eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Watching your girlish figure?"

I look down. I reach for the spoon but my hands are covered in blood. I blink. My hands are clean. I move them away from the spoon.

"Nope. Not hungry. Maybe later," I drawl.

"It is curious that the Dark Lord would ask you to go meet with Black," Severus says thoughtfully, "He doesn't usually tolerate pleasantries."

"It wasn't very pleasant," I tell him.

"And then to send Lestrange in to save you from no danger… very odd"

"Well maybe he was testing me."

"No," Severus says taking a sip. "No, you're about as trusted as you can be. Perhaps the letter said something he was concerned about. He needed you to find out if it was what he suspected."

"Well the only thing I found out was that Lela and Sirius are no longer engaged… too dangerous," I say. I spin my empty goblet with my wand.

"What?"

The tone of Severus voice shocks me. My goblet clatters against the table as I lose concentration.

"Lela didn't mention that last time we met," Severus snaps. "I'll kill him."

He is so protective over his sister.

"I heard she was offered a job in America yesterday," I say half-heartedly. I'm still thinking about the meeting and Angel's eyes. Watching an Angel be killed must send your soul to the deepest ring of hell. I'll have to reference Dante to be sure.

"Who said that," Severus asks.

His tone is calmer now. As if he was hoping such news would come.

"Lucious," I reply. "You can rely on Lucious to give you good Ministry gossip."

"Good, good," Severus says going back to his soup. He takes a sip as Kreacher passes by and clears the empty goblets.

"Still, I wonder why the Dark Lord allowed the meeting…" Severus trails off and we are silent."

"Skip ahead a bit," Ron whined. Hermione nudged him more aggressively than usual.

"What," he snapped, "I'm bored."

Harry sighed and scanned the pages, flipping them until two had passed and began again.

"When I wake up, Lestrange and Bella are gone. For a moment, I think I am alone, but then…

"I admit that was a bit more graphic than I had anticipated."

The Dark Lord's voice seems to hiss. He becomes more and more corpse like as the days go on. Perhaps he always looked like this and I had not noticed?

I groan unintentionally and move my arm to push myself up. My fingers intertwine with other fingers and I look, still feeling fuzzy.

The hand is attached to an arm that goes to a shoulder that attaches to a neck whose eyes are staring at me- expression stuck in one of horror. I can't help but gasp and draw away.

"Quite right," the Dark Lord says casually. "Disgusting things. But necessary for our purpose."

I barely hear him and looking around now realize I am literally entangled with dead bodies- arms and legs, necks and torsos. And the eyes; always staring with the same expression. Tortured and killed- crucio, then a green light.

"They were practically begging for it from Bella," the Dark Lord says. His face does not smile, but doesn't look disgusted either. "I told her I needed ten more."

As he speaks he sweeps a body to the side, out of his path.

Looking around, I see there must be at least fifty. And the eyes- the eyes are all staring at me. Just like Angel eyes.

"You have been becoming a bit unhinged of late."

I look up, trying very hard to imagine myself anywhere- in front of the burning building with children screaming- anywhere but here.

"It's my own fault," he continues. "I shouldn't have let you talk to that brother of yours. Your old friend's death was an unfortunate coincidence."

"Why did you send me to talk to him," I croak.

I am kicking myself already that I have asked, especially in the squeak of a voice it came out with. How weak. But the Dark Lord seems unsurprised.

"My dear boy," he says in the tone that could be fatherly if his eyes were not so cold and snake like. "His letter implied he might know something."

I say nothing, which the Dark Lord takes as an invitation to continue. I am focused on very gently moving the leg my leg is entangled with.

"He mentioned desperately needing to talk to you about something. A," he pauses pretending to search for the word for dramatic effect.

I feel nauseous and I realize it's from the discussion, not from the smell of bodies.

"A treasure was discovered. Strange wording, but he obviously cared for the muggle a great deal. For the best that Lela Snape broke it off when she did and moved to America."

I realize the Dark Lord is trying to have a conversation with me, completely unperturbed by our setting.

"My lord," I ask. I stop my stutter in my throat before I sound like that Pettigrew traitor idiot.

"So I foolishly thought that I had been sloppy. Perhaps he had found my ring, and what a treasure indeed."

"Family heirloom, my Lord," I ask.

"Quite a bit of work. Makes me feel quite alive, practically invincible- immortal almost," he laughs but it does not reach his eyes.

"You must have so many heirlooms, my lord," I say. I am wondering when this conversation will be over.

"Yes. Seven is the magical number." He looks at me and a snake like smile appears on his face, as if he is about to attack me with venomous fangs. Then the look disappears and I wonder if perhaps it was my imagination to begin with.

"Lets leave this horrible place."

With that the bodies are gone, the room is gone, the nausea remains.

We appear on the corner by my house and I concentrate on not throwing up in front of the Dark Lord.

"You have a house elf, is that correct, Regulus?"

I nod as a streetlight flickers- ridiculous muggle invention.

"I shall require his services in a week. It is highly important in regards to one of my final heirlooms. Do make sure he understands the serious nature."

Then, without a sound, he was gone. And I see my lunch in the street."

Ginny shifted, face thoughtful.

"The seven heirlooms are the Horocruxes you mentioned," she asked curiously.

Harry nodded. Hermione took the pause to walk from the room silently. Ron gave the other teens a questioning look, then shrugged and stretched.

"Old Voldy was a bit cocky, eh?" he asked after his stretch.

"Good thing too, otherwise Regulus would never have known about the horocruxes," Ginny said.

"Right, but maybe Dumbledore would have been able to destroy the locket if it had been the real thing," Ron replied.

"Ron," Hermione scolded as she entered the room. "That's not right at all. Better Regulus redeem himself and try to help. Isn't that right Kreecher?"

Kreecher looked sulkily at them all as he entered the room.

"What's up Kreecher," Ginny asked kindly. She may not have been fond of Kreecher, but Hermione had had a point about being nice to all house elves. And Kreecher had ended up helping them all defeat Lord Voldemort with his information.

"Master Regulus was the bravest master," Kreechr croaked.

"What's he doing here, Hermione," Harry asked curiously.

"I thought Kreecher would like to hear about Regulus' last memories. After all, they were very close."

Kreecher looked torn, as if he could not decide if he should be flattered to be invited or offended that he was in a room of blood traitors and mudbloods. This made his eye tear up, while his face was pulled into a pained expression.

Harry adjusted his glasses and turned the page.

"The problem with joining a cause so young was that I had no idea what sacrifice was. How was I to know that there would be so much death ridding the world of the unclean. I noticed that if I did not take Severeus' potion, I had a night of nightmares and woke up in cold sweat, screams echoing through the halls where no one was screaming. And the blood- I never could clean off the blood. Without Severeus' potion I could see the blood splattered on my hands and under my nails. Soaking- dripping. It never came out, no matter how I scrubbed.

"Lady Macbeth at the sink again," Lestrange chuckled when he and Bellatrix came over for dinner.

"Hygiene is something you should consider," I replied, turning off the water. It was a miracle I did not leave blood on the faucets. When no one was looking I drank the potion from Severus, then sat down again.

Hours later we parted ways and Kreecher closed the door behind them.

"Kreecher," I say sitting down in the kitchen, "Get me some firewhiskey, won't you?"

I watch as he moves slowly towards the liquor cabinet. What could the Dark Lord have planned for him? He who helped me when I was younger more than my own mother. All the old thing wanted was to have his head in the hallway.

"Thank you, Kreecher," I say as he places the whiskey before me.

"Kreecher," I add as he turns away. He stops.

"Yes, Mr. Regulus?"

"I- I will be needing your help tomorrow."

"Whatever Mr. Regulus needs. Mr. regulus knows he can ask Kreecher anything and Kreecher is happy to do so for the Black family and especially Mr. Regulus."

I look at his pointed and crooked face. For a moment, his face looks frozen in torture and shock- crucio then green light. I shake my head and it is Kreecher's usual face, eyes looking up at me expectantly.

"The Dark Lord requires your service. I need you to go with him and assist him in any way you can. Whatever he asks be sure to do it, do you understand Kreecher?"

Kreecher nods.

"Tomorrow go to him at 8 pm. Assist in whatever he needs help with. But-"

I pause. The next instruction has been caught in my throat. I take a shot of firewhiskey to clear my head.

"But after he is done with whatever it is he is doing, come back home. He will use your assistance, then when he no longer needs you, come straight home. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mr. Regulus."

"What will you do?"

"Kreecher will go to the Dark lord at 8pm. Kreecher will assist the Dark lord in whatever way the Dark Lord asks of Kreecher. Then, when Kreecher has finished and the Dark Lord no longer needs Kreecher's help, Kreecher will come straight home."

"Good Kreecher," I say taking another sip of firewhiskey. "Let's keep the last bit to ourselves, shall we?"

"Kreecher will not tell anyone that Mr. Regulus has asked Kreecher to return home after the Dark Lord finishes."

"Excellent."

Kreecher begins to clear the firewhiskey, but I stop him. Telling him to go to bed. I'll need the firewhiskey for a good nights sleep. No Angel eyes, screaming children, or shocked dead faces tonight. Tonight there will be no blood. If I have my way, there will not be blood again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 :

After Kreacher leaves at 8, I stay up pacing the floor. I spend an hour staring at the clock. Another hour is spent tracing the lines of the Black family tree. The next two I use to clean the house elf heads in the hallway. Mother's portrait smiles down at me with the same twinkle in her eye. At one point I consider joining Sirius in this "Order of the Pheonix" business. My quill out, I get as far as "Dear Sirius," before stopping. What an utterly over-romantic idea. I run my hands over my eye. For a moment in the darkness behind my hand I feel my eye twitch from lack of sleep. I remove my hands before I fall into unintended rest.

"Incendio," I mutter. The fire burns the parchment quickly. "Dear Sirius" seems to hang eerily in the air before it disappears to ash. My eye twitches again and I rub it. How would that letter have gone?

"Loved our chat, brother. Been considering what you said. In over my head. Please let me join you. Let me know! Sincerely, R.A.B."

Even in my head it sounds stupid. Besides, the Dark Lord would find it long before Sirius. No, I would have to get myself out of this.

With another wave of my wand I change the bed sheets and dust off the curtains. So restless I'm cleaning. All the Emerald and silver seems drearier than I remember in the Dungeons. I make the mistake of inspecting my wand to see if it needs to be polished. This leads me to look at my hand. Blood. I scrub in the bathroom until it looks as if it has disappeared.

I lazily flip through "The Art of Immortality" which still sits on my bedside table. I wake suddenly to a crack like a whip and see Kreacher before me.

"Master Regulus is still awake," Kreacher asks.

"Yes Kreacher. How did everything go? What happened," I ask breathlessly. I feel as if I have been holding my breath for hours.

Kreacher goes teary eyed, honored that I have waited up for him. Usually Kreacher is not so affectionate, but he lets out a sob and collapses into my lap.

"Mr. Regulus is a good master. Mr. Regulus is a very good master. Too good for old Kreacher," he sobs.

"Now Kreacher, don't be silly," I say oddly embarrassed. "Lets hear what happened."

Kreacher composes himself and blows his nose on his covering. His knees seem a bit quaky. He seems a bit paler than usual.

"The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake. There was a boat. There was a basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it."

I feel a quivering in my stomach as if I'm going to be sick, but I can't stop staring at Kreacher's face. It has scrunched up in concentration, as if working hard to explain the story but hating to relive the recent memory. I feel like I should tell him to stop, but I can't. The words are caught in my throat. I can see Angel's eyes.

"Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things… Kreacher's insides burned… Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed…He made Kreacher drink all the potion… He dropped a locket into the empty basin.. He filled it with more potion. Then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island."

I could practically see the Dark Lord's face. I could hear his laugh, like screams of children in burning buildings. My stomach turned.

"Kreacher needed water," Kreacher began but I could not take anymore.

"Stop Kreacher, stop," I beg.

Kreacher looks surprised, but I have no time for it.

"Are you alright," I ask. My tone sounds curt to my own ears. I can see the bodies and hands. The dead arms around my arms.

"Kreacher is better now, Master Regulus," the elf assures me.

But I know he won't be if the Dark Lord finds out about this.

"Kreacher, I need you to stay hidden and not to leave the house. No matter what any other Black says. You must not disobey Master Regulus, do you understand?"

Kreacher's eyes look bloodshot and stare at me.

"No grocery shopping, no gardening, nothing. Only in the house. Do you understand?"

Slowly the elf nods.

"Why don't you go to bed now Kreacher," I say kindly.

The elf nods again and moves away, down the stairs to his cupboard.

After he is gone I fall down on a nearby chair. The Dark Lord went through a lot of work to hide something. Something he didn't want anyone to know how to get and had to test with a house elf. It was almost as strange as the conversation the Dark Lord and I had after I met with Sirius.

My eyes widened.

"The Art of Immortality" was still where I had left it. I push the pages one by one, unsure of what I am looking for- something to do with heirlooms perhaps? A ring? As, if in answer, the page on horcruxes falls open. My eyes scan the page and it becomes clear. The Dark Lord has a horcrux, maybe two- a locket and a ring.

I sit with the book for a long time. My whole body feels cold. I have never felt so terrified. Not around Lestrange, not even around the Dark Lord, for we were all mortal. Now that I know he is not. I gulp. I can hear Sirius' voice whispering in my ear "So I'm here to tell you that one day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching. Is it worth watching so far?"

I pause in thought. No. No it wasn't. All it had was death. So much death I took potions every night not to sleep. How could I get out? I couldn't betray the Dark Lord and hope to live. And with a horcrux, I couldn't even hope to destroy him. I knew what I would do. The Black family surely had a locket in the house. I would replace it. Kreacher knew where to go. Yes. This is the only way to end it and now, now I know more than ever it must end.

First, if I am going to be heroic, I am going to have something to show for it. Something to clean out my ledger. Perhaps Sirius would see it when he inherited the house. He will read it and forgive me. I open my drawer where I keep my quills and ink and pull out an old black leather journal that was given to me ages ago. Some unfortunate distant relative had given it to me. Someone who knew too little about me to get a thoughtful gift.

Digging in my closet I finally find my old charms book. Flipping to the back I find the charm I was looking for. I concentrated on the book, repeating the spell a few times in my mind. I mumbled the spell beneath my breath and the book's pages gave off a slight yellow light. Now, if I thought about the diary, it should imprint my thoughts.

Back in the closet I find my old trunk and pulled it out. It still had a few Slytherin robes in it. With a gentle tap to the bottom of the red interior, the false bottom moved. I softly put the book beneath it and replace the fake bottom and refold the robes.

I know I must find the locket.

…

I find Kreacher in his cupboard. His eyes widen and I realize I must look atrocious. As if I have been up for a few nights. I have been but I try to pat down my hair.

"Master Regulus," he begins, but I cut him off.

"Kreacher, I," I clear my throat. " I need you to take me to the cave. To the place where the Dark Lord took you."

His eyes widen with sudden fear and he makes a move backwards. It must be unintended because he bites his tongue fiercely.

"Kreacher will take Master."

With a crack we have moved from the Manor to the opening to a cave. Looking around, I saw rough waves banging against dark walls. A sour breeze slides pass my face and whirls behind me in the darkness. It sounds like a hiss. I tense and turn, but there is no Dark Lord here. There seems to be a back wall shortly on, but my spine tingles with the sense of magic. Powerful magic.

"Kreacher, show me the entrance, please," I ask.

"Master Regulus, it requires a blood donation, so it will take Kreacher a bit of time to take you," Kreacher says. He pauses and stares at the wall. I feel the air crackle with a feeling I have never felt before. I blink in surprise. I have never felt magic like this before.

"Kreacher," I say suddenly, "I will provide a donation."

"But Master Regulus," he sputters.

"You mustn't weaken yourself in any way to make the journey back. Besides," with a quick movement I open my hand and rub it on the stone. "I owe it."

In my mind's eye I can see an extra drop of blood drip to the floor.

A silver arch illuminates Kreacher's confused frown. With a wave of my wand, my hand heals. For the first time, my old clean hand is before me. I am baffled by it and feel my final nerves ebb away. I motion for Kreacher to go first.

With a whisper my wand lights up and I see an eery black lake with a ceiling so high that the it is in shadow.

"There," Kreacher whispers. He points to a green glow in what looks like the middle of the dark lake.

The darkness of the lake and cave is thicker than usual and I look down at the water. I've known of the Dark Lord for a long time and I know that this darkness and black water is not natural. This is dark magic, old and ancient. This has it's own blood sacrifice.

Kreacher leads me around the lake on a narrow wall for ages. We move slowly and cautiously until he stops and touches thin air. A rickety old boat appears. Kreacher motions to it and steps inside. With a deep breathe, I follow.

The boat drifts silently across the water. I am oddly relaxed, considering the situation. Kreacher however sits in the center of the boat, nervously eying the water.

"Kreacher," I say gently, "I appreciate your help."

Kreacher looks up respectfully but his eyes still dart to the water.

"Master Regulus, Kreacher was not able to finish his story. Kreacher does not mean to make Master Regulus uneasy but, when Kreacher needed water he crawled to the island's edge and drank from the black lake and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher below."

"Kreacher isn't making me uneasy," I say softly. "I knew there had to be more protection."

But I had not thought of what kind. I leaned slightly over the edge and sure enough, there was an Inferi. Below a dead woman lay just inches below the boat, eyes open and misted. She wore muggle clothes and almost seemed to float. I could imagine that one could look into their eyes and fall head long into the black lake, mesmerized to death by their own mortality. I, however, have already come to terms with my mortality and so I pull away from the lake, back into the boat. I may have supplied some of these bodies myself. That is more unnerving than the misty eyes.

Before I can dwell on it the boat comes to a hal small island of smooth rock. In the middle stood the basin on a pedestal Kreacher had mentioned, emitting greenish light. From my own pocket I pull out a locket. I look for a moment at the potion, then to the dark waters around us. I take a gulp of air and kneel so I am Kreacher's height.

"Kreacher, listen very carefully. You know that Master Regulus is very fond of you, right?"

Kreacher nods. He wrings his hands nervously.

"When the basin is empty, Kreacher, you must switch the lockets. I order you to do this and then, I order you to leave without me. You will never tell Mother- Mistress- about what I have done, I order you. You will destroy the first locket- the one the Dark Lord left behind."

Kreacher's eyes widen and he begins to open his mouth but I finish the command, "and I won't hear any arguments about it Kreacher. It's very important this all happens."

He closes his mouth and clutches the locket tightly.

"A glass Kreacher," I instruct.

Kreacher conjures one from mid air and hands it to me hesitantly. I pause and look at him.

"You are not to let me leave a drop of potion in this basin. Even if you have to force feed it to me," I say seriously.

Kreacher's brows furrow.

"Not a drop," I repeat. With a gulp, Kreacher agrees.

With the first sip I can feel the potion sliding down my throat like a solid rather than a liquid. It hits my stomach and a pain shoots through my body. My legs, arms, and head feel as if they had pressure weighing on them, pushing, pushing down. By the end of the first cup, I keep my eyes closed in concentration. They twitch in an attempt to open, but I must keep drinking.

By the third cup, my eyes are glued shut and I am stuck in a nightmare.

The mobile above me spins gently- the serpent chasing the muggle. The serpent chases the muggle. From the side of my mind's eye I can hear Bellatrix' voice say "Crucio."

The screams the screams! Old people, young children, men, women. They scream. They call for help. They beg for forgiveness. They beat my head and I can feel my heart about to be torn from the chest.

Lestrange's voice hisses "Avada Kedavra."

They fall form the sky. Children half burned from an orphanage fire, bodies and arms and legs entangled and smelly, and they don't stop. They fall and fall. I run with my arms above my head. The Dark Lord laughs. They are falling on top of me. I can't run anywhere. They are staring at me. The eyes. So many dead eyes, pupils open staring at me, like Angel's, accusing.

"I'm sorry," I scream. "No more! I'm sorry. I don't- it's my fault! I'm sorry."

I fall to my knees and their cold eyes only stare, surrounding me, hundreds, staring and staring. I see red on the floor and I lift my hands. It feels gooey like blood. I stare at the eyes again but none of them bleed.

"The blood," I gasp. "The blood- it's my fault. Take me! Forgive me!"

Holding up my hands I realize the blood is from me, from my hands. The eyes stare. I fall to my knees and then my side. I'm staring into my brother's eyes, open and lightless.

"Sirius," I begin, but then I look up and see the mobile- the serpent chasing the muggle. Then, there is nothing.

I wake to Kreacher shaking me.

"Master Regulus, Master Regulus."

He looks as if he has been crying. His snout is dripping.

"Water," I gasp and crawl towards the lake. I feel a weight on my arm.

"Master Regulus, no! Master Regulus the dead hands!"

"Kreacher, what are your orders?"

Kreacher does not let go. "Kreacher must destroy the locket. He must leave the replacement and destroy the oen the Dark Lord left."

"Do it," I croak. My throat is so dry. I can see the black lake so close.

Kreacher pauses, eyes darting from me to the basin. With surprising quick movement for such an old elf, Kreacher switches the locket and begins to head towards me again. But he is too late. In his absence I have pulled myself to the water's edge. Just below the surface is a hand, waiting. Simply floating as if unperturbed. I take my glass and take a sip of water. After the first sip, I am being dragged in, but water never tasted so disgusting and yet so good. I think about the leather journal.

I've heard that any number of occurrences happens when you die. You see a light, you see your life, or you hear a voice of God. It always fascinated me. I wondered as Muggles and blood traitors alike stood before the Dark Lord, what would they be seeing. Will it be green and then darkness? Will they embrace it? Will this final scene be imprinted in their memory forever- perhaps a grimy stone floor, the blood?

If the final scene were the memory for the dead to keep, mine will be through a mirror of water. I am simply sinking away from the last of the light I had shot to light the cave. The light seems to ripple, as if I were seeing the reflection of it in a puddle. But I am sinking in the puddle. Being pulled into the puddle is more like it.

Before it all went black, I heard a voice- my brother's voice- repeating the words he had once said to me: "one day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching." Then, I could feel a warmth in my chest, because in all the images that may have flashed before my minds eye, many of which I am about to retell, none would shine more brightly than the deed I had just finished. I had allowed someone, one day, to defeat one of the greatest evils of our time. I did not know when it would be, or how long I would have to wait in whichever place I were heading, but I knew that now it was more possible.

This thought comforted me as I was dragged to the bottomless depths and into darkness.

My name is Regulus A. Black. I am the lastborn son of the pureblood Black Family. On July 28th, 1979 I was murdered. With the last ounce of magic I have, I have imprinted my final moment of life and that leading up to it in this book for someone, someday, to find and see."


End file.
